


world ripped to shreds

by TheImaginativeFox



Series: bad things happen to the people you love [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Explosion, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 08:27:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImaginativeFox/pseuds/TheImaginativeFox
Summary: Whumptober Prompt 2: ExplosionLater, Dick will wonder where he went wrong and what he could’ve done differently in that split second between success and disaster. Because one moment, the guy is cornered and Dick is reaching for zip-ties, already thinking about how fun it will be to rub it in Bruce’s face that Dick caught Bruce’s guy. That will never happen though, because in the next moment, the guy throws something at Dick that wraps itself around his lower left arm and starts beeping upon contact.





	world ripped to shreds

Later, Dick will wonder where he went wrong and what he could’ve done differently in that split second between success and disaster. Because one moment, the guy is cornered and Dick is reaching for zip-ties, already thinking about how fun it will be to rub it in Bruce’s face that _Dick _caught Bruce’s guy. That will never happen though, because in the next moment, the guy throws something at Dick that wraps itself around his lower left arm.

It flashes red and starts beeping upon contact.

The guy rushes past him, now wearing a completely different shade of panic from the one he wore when Dick had him cornered.

Everything feels distant as the realization of what’s about to happen hits him. He reaches up to press his comm, voice methodical as he says, “Medical assist. Explosive.”

“Nightwing, get out of there. _Now_,” Bruce growls after a moment, somehow deducing that Dick hasn’t been hurt yet.

“Can’t. It’s on my arm.” The beeping is getting faster, and he knows he should be trying to get it off or at least protect himself as best he can, but he’s completely frozen, unable to look away from the flashing red light.

Bruce sucks in a sharp breath, then orders, “Move your arm as far away from your body as you can. Protect your head. I’m on my way.”

Dick does as he’s told, Bruce’s voice somehow able to rise above the beeping and override Dick’s panic. At least for a moment. “I love you B. And thanks—for everything.”

“Don’t. You are going to be fine. Do you understand me?”

The beeping cuts short—everything is heat and light and noise and _pain _as Dick’s world is ripped to shreds. The explosion leaves him with nothing and all he can do is scream.

oOo

A desperate hand brushing against his cheek, promises and words of comfort he can’t quite make out, heavy pressure that won’t go away despite his choked pleading, blood flooding all of his senses, eyes begging—_telling_—him to hold on just a little longer, the longing for a hand to latch on to. These are the things he remembers; these are the things that will make up his nightmares from that night.

For now, though, he wakes up to that muffled beeping and this all-consuming pain. It’s too much, and every part of him is screaming at him to run and get out but he can’t because he’s _stuck_. And where’s Bruce? He promised he would be here, he promised—

“Shh, easy, kiddo. You’re alright, you’re safe.” The hand he’s been needing finally appears, gripping Dick’s tightly in its own and promising to never let go.

“Hurts,” he manages, turning his head to find Bruce’s face. His jaw is set and there’s a sadness in his eyes. A helplessness.

“I know.” For some reason, Bruce is even harder to hear now that Dick’s facing him. “We’re trying to get it under control, but your injuries are severe.”

The pain is all over—in his side, in his head—but the loudest part is coming from his left arm. He tugs his right hand out of Bruce’s grip to examine it, already having an idea of what he’ll find. He pulls the sheet down and finds maybe a quarter of his arm still in-tact and heavily bandaged. _Fuck_. “He blew my fucking arm off.”

“Yes.” Bruce just runs his hand through Dick’s hair, letting the _but it could’ve been so much worse, I could’ve lost you _go unsaid.

“I thought,” Dick swallows past the lump in his throat, “I thought I was gonna die.” He was sure of it.

“You didn’t.” _I got to you in time, you’re fine, just like I said_.

Before Dick can say anything else—about the arm, about how he cheated death—the pain spikes and all he can manage is a shuttering breath as he grits his teeth. He reaches for Bruce’s hand again, gripping it tight enough to leave marks. Dick pushes his head into the pillow and squeezes his eyes shut, using all of his self-control to prevent himself from whimpering. “_Fuck_, Bruce, it really hurts.” _Make it stop, make it stop_.

Bruce rubs his thumb back and forth across Dick’s knuckles reassuringly, and from the way it tugs on Dick’s hand, he assumes Bruce stands up. The spike of pain falls back down to baseline soon enough, but baseline is still too high. He hears Bruce speak up again, but he can’t make out what he’s saying at all. “What?” he asks, opening his eyes and turning his head just enough to expose his right ear.

Bruce is frowning, but he repeats what he says anyway—louder than he had been speaking before, too. “I’ve increased the flow rate on your pain medication. It should start helping soon.” 

“Okay.” He focuses on a spot past Bruce on the far wall and tries to_ breathe in: one two three, out: one two three, in: one two thee, out: one two—_

Bruce taps his shoulder after a few minutes pass and the monitors have calmed down considerably, but it’s not until Dick looks at him that Bruce asks, “Do you think you could try some water?”

“Sure.” He hadn’t noticed how dry his throat was. He wonders if it’s just from being intubated for surgery or if he’s been out a long time. He doesn’t feel like asking.

“Don’t try to sit up; you’ll agitate the burns,” Bruce warns. When he hums in understanding, Bruce grabs a cup of water, drops a straw in it, and holds it up for Dick, who sips at it eagerly. He drinks about half of it before Bruce pulls it away, promising, “You can have more after you keep it down for a few minutes.”

The pain meds have started to kick in and all he wants to do is go back to sleep, but he has a question to ask first: “Is the hearing loss permanent?”

“Possibly.” Bruce shifts in his seat. “Both eardrums were ruptured, but there was damage to some of the bones in the left ear.”

. . . And considering that Dick can’t seem to hear anything with that ear, the “possibly” is really a probably.

“We’ll do a hearing test in a few days when you’re up to it.”

“Sure.” Dick can’t wait to see the cover story Bruce comes up with for this one. Not many things can simultaneously cause someone to lose half of their arms and half of their hearing.

(Tears threaten to build up in Dick’s eyes; he blinks them away silently as if they had never been there. Bruce notices anyway.)

“Get some sleep, Dick. We can discuss these things later.”

Bruce means when he’s not exhausted, in pain, and on heavy medication. But that won’t be for a few weeks, and by that point, Dick will be able to pretend he’s okay. No, they won’t talk about this properly until he breaks down in the middle of the night months later. That’s how things usually go.

“How am I supposed to do anything like this?” Dick asks, voice wet and angry and low. “How am I supposed to be Nightwing?”

“If Nightwing is something you still want, we will find a way to make it work,” Bruce tells him firmly. “It will be different and it will take time, but you have always managed to get what you’ve worked for, and this time won’t be any different.”

Dick takes a shaky breath, eyes glued to the ceiling when the tears finally spill over. “You think?”

“I am certain of it.” Bruce cups Dick’s damp cheek with his hand—that same desperate hand that had begged Dick to tell him that he wasn’t too late—and forces Dick to look him in the eye. “You are going to be fine. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.” With Bruce around, there’s no other option.

“Get some rest,” Bruce tries again.

“You’ll stay with me?”

Bruce brushes Dick’s hair back and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Of course.”

Dick stops fighting against the exhaustion and closes his eyes, falling asleep the same way he woke up: quickly and with Bruce by his side. He dreams of explosions and being on the brink of death, but as long as Bruce is still there ready to calm him down when he wakes up, he’ll be fine. Permanent repercussions and all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! Comments and kudos are always appreciated
> 
> [tumblr](https://the-imaginative-fox.tumblr.com/post/188178319773/world-ripped-to-shreds)


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